Ordinary In Progress
by thewordiscool
Summary: The terribly tentilating tale of a one Corrette *insert last name here*, a rather shy and boring girl who slowly begins to realize that her definition of "ordinary" just took on an entirely different meaning...
1. Chapter 1

_Hey guys! And welcome to... *dramatic music* my story (Rather anti-climatic, I know.). I hope you enjoy (That's sort of the point, right?). I'd already posted the beginning of this, but the grammer was all messed up (Yes, yes. We all have our lazy days.), so it's now *hopefully* new and improved. The actual plot isn't really based on anything, but all of the characters are a mish-mosh of different books, movies, and songs. I have an...erm...how do you say it? Overactive imagination. I greatly enjoy imagining different little scenerios, but that's sort of the problem - this is my first attempt at knitting them all together and creating something coherent. SO please review (I know you've heard that a thousand times, but it makes me feel better just to ask)...it encourages me - get up and finish something already..._

_So, here it is..._

**Ordinary In Progress**

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

I had always been under the impression that I was ordinary.

Not normal - for I had convinced myself that "normal" is an ungraspable concept that was merely conceived to continue self-improvement - just, ordinary.

Like the girl that's sitting on the stoop in the unfocused plain of the movie, too engrossed in her book to notice the drug deal that's going down across the street.

But, as is expected of the ordinary, I was wrong.


	2. Chapter 2

My lunch tray slapped against the long linoleum banquet table as I sat down. I winced and peeked through my hair to make sure no one had noticed.

The girls at the trough closest to me were extending their arms towards the middle of the table - presumably to compare tans - and oogling the tall boys that had just thundered to the seats next to them.

The teachers in the corner of the dim room didn't seem to pay much attention to the din rising around them - all were hunched over and half-heartedly picking at their salads as a light flickered above them and went amort.

The black-clad couple five seats down from me silently stared past each other - past the cream walls, it seemed.

Contented that I did not exist in the same world as my peers, I slid onto the cold amorphous shape that was called a stool. I studied the gray turkey sandwich I had selected - I noticed none of the others had gotten the hamburgers - and decided it was safe.

As I slowly chewed, I glanced about the room, hoping to learn my classmates' faces. No one seemed terribly interested in anything they were doing - despite the fervor with which they chewed their bagels. I felt as though I were the only one who cared enough to venture to the uncharted plains of observation - though I planned to care from a quiet corner for the year.

________________________________________________________________________

I looked down at my empty Styrofoam plate and pondered what to do with it. If I threw it away, I would throw away my rights to sit at the pale blue table and observe. But, if I sat here with an empty plate, I would look like an idiot.

If anyone noticed that my plate was empty.

If anyone noticed me.

As I stood up from the table and clutched my tray, I looked up to see the clock and hung my foot on the stool, spilling my tray across the hard, cold floor in the process.

The couple nearest me snapped out of their dazes long enough to snicker and wipe some smudged eyeliner from beneath their thick lashes.

________________________________________________________________________  
The rest of the day was comfortingly uneventful.


	3. Chapter 3

As the clock began to promise freedom, I shuffled into my last and most dreaded class - theatre.

I had absolutely no intention of flouncing onto the stage - theater empty or no - and being entertaining in any way. I had already made up my mind to talk with my teacher and let her know that I was only taking this class because I wanted to graduate.

As I tugged open a solid tan door, a warm draft wafted around me and the smell of fabric dye and makeup filled my nostrils. This promised to be excruciatingly eventful indeed.

Thankfully, only the stage was lit in the massive theatre and all my classmates were slumped against it, taking no notice of me as I walked across the width of the theater and down the furthest side aisle to the very, very edge of the stage. No need to draw attention. The class let out a collective sigh as we waited for the teacher. And waited. The curtains' musty smell tickled my nose and I sneezed violently. Eyes flicked to me and back down to the floor.

I counted the students. Seven girls (including myself) and five boys. The girls were mostly dark-haired, either black-dyed or dark brown with streaks. I marveled at the deep purple hair of one petite girl who I suspected was quite beautiful until I realized that I couldn't see her face through the hair. The boys were completely different from one another and I found the variety refreshing. The boy closest to me was dirty blonde and very muscular. He was muttering quietly to a red-head sprawled on the stage who was familiarly eying the iron catwalks. The three other boys were clumped with the girls and seemed to get along fairly well. One had dark, dark velvety skin that glistened every time he spoke - his ivory teeth catching the stage lights. The boy sitting cross-legged across from him was gangly-legged and peeked from underneath his disheveled mop of ecru-colored hair as he casually slung his arm around the pouting girl next to him. She smiled at him tightly and cast an annoyed glance to the boy leaning against the stage. He shook his head solemnly and grinned. He was quite animated and his dark brown hair shook every time he shared a sympathetic look with the girl - I guessed he was laughing. But, the entire conversation, I never heard him say a word.  
Quite suddenly, the door to the room thudded against the carpeted wall. I jumped, snapping out of my reverie. Everyone else simply glanced up and continued with their conversations. Apparently, this was to be expected. A flushed, middle aged woman flew down the center aisle, her rusty yellow hair flying around the white bandanna she wore as a hair band. She reached the stage quicker than I had expected of a woman her age and grabbed the edge, panting and grinning like mad. I cheered considerably at this blatant show of enthusiasm. "Hey." she breathed. "It's great to see all of you!" This was replied by a chorus of grunts and a few "Hey"s. The boy with dark brown hair offered a cheerful salute. The teacher caught my befuddled gaze and her grin grew even more. "Oh-ho! I see we have some fresh meat!" I must've jumped because her expression changed immediately to one of sincere apology. "It's a theatre joke around here..." The red-head shook against the dusty black stage as he laughed. All the others stared at their shoes in boredom. "Oh." I offered lamely, followed by the best grin I could muster, feeling bad all the while for not being able to pick up the conversation. The teacher recovered with zeal. "Well, I'm Mrs. Penson." She smiled as her crows' feet deepened. "Just Penson's fine, or P or Pen or Son or Ruth. Really, whatever you're in the mood to call me." She shot a warning look to the cross-legged boy who had let his arm slide to the girl's waist. I grinned for real this time and began to relax. I could do this.

Apparently sensing the insipid atmosphere the students had coated the tired theater with, she clapped her dry hands together. The popping noise reverberated off the carpeted walls surprisingly forcefully and filled the room with noise. Everyone was looking at her now, which was what I suspect had been her purpose. Even the red head was laying on his stomach now, head cupped in his hands, trying to look a little too cute. "Ok. Our first play for the year is going to be A FANTASTIC PLAY OF SOME SORT THAT I HAVE YET TO DETERMINE." her green eyes began to sparkle. "You will all have a part in this production - whether it is on the stage or not. I want you to be involved - to get inspired by the words. I'm not saying you have to sell your soul to me - just give me some enthusiasm? Ok?" I relaxed considerably, leaning against the stage and plopping my dusty blue backpack onto the floor. With a great thwump my bag split open, my notebook falling onto the stained gray carpet. I hurriedly stooped down to scoop it up, but it was futile. I could feel the eyes on me already. "Well, let's start with you!" Mrs. Penson exclaimed. "What would you like to do in the play?" This would be a long class indeed.


	4. Chapter 4

As the piercing siren of a bell began to ding relentlessly, I snatched my sack and sped to the door - with no real destination in mind, only the overpowering feeling that I needed to be somewhere else.

I was surprised at how quickly my peers moved - they had barely moved all forty-five minutes of class. But, just as I reached out to grasp the dull brass knob, a pale hand with chipped black nail polish shot out and flung the door open.

I waited for the purple-haired girl to flounce through, but, instead, she tilted her head and waved me through the door facing. I was momentarily stunned, until a hand found the small of my back and rather forcibly helped me on my way.

I spun round and found the dark-brown haired boy elbowing the ecru-haired boy in the ribs. The blond snorted and playfully waved in my direction.

I, at a total loss for any intelligent reply, waved back.


	5. Chapter 5

The sidewalk meandering from the school was cracked and textured from all the salt that had been scratched along its surface.

I hung my thumbs on my backpack straps and dug my elbows into my sides in a futile attempt at warmth. I could hear the hum of cars reluctantly waking up on the other side of the dull white fence and felt the crumbling ground vibrate underneath my feet as the teachers roared away from school.

A mass of teenagers, shoulders hunched against the cold, skittered past me, nudging me off the sidewalk and onto the brittle grass.

I bumped into something warm and looked up the see the boy with chocolate hair grinning down at me. He grasped my shoulder and placed me back on the sidewalk, all the while balancing an unbelievable pile of books with his right hand. I smiled back in thanks and he nodded, continuing to walk along side me in silence - I was terribly thankful for his apparent lack of curiosity.

When we got to the corner of the street, he gently touched my shoulder and peeled off in the opposite direction. I watched him walk away, his backpack swinging against his knees every time he stepped and his forest green jacket swooshing with the wind.

As I waited for the pedestrian light to change to a more friendly green, he stopped abruptly and spun around, walking quickly towards me.

Feeling incredibly awkward and terribly excited all at once, I stared at the concrete and kicked at a pebble. I heard a great thump as he dropped his menagerie on the ground and took off his jacket, draping it around my shoulders.

"But -" I started, but he was already walking away, smiling over his shoulder and waving all the while.


	6. Chapter 6

I had a little trouble finding my way to his house, but it was not the sort to be easily overlooked. Standing pale yellow against the grays and creams of the stick forest, doll house fringe lacing its hard edges, I cheered considerably at the sight of it and hurried up the sidewalk, neatly trimmed of any frozen weeds.

I touched the warm button next to the door and heard the soft humming of chimes from within. In mere seconds, I heard someone thundering down the stairs and the door was flung open.

"Correte!" Uncle Lou cried joyfully, though I could tell he wasn't as happy as his sparkling eyes claimed to be. "It's been forever! What are you doing in the cold? Come in!"

He ushered me inside and took my backpack from me, which I now realized had been bulging beneath the jacket. Five points for observation, I awarded myself.

Folding my jacket over his thinly sleeved arm, he gestured to the great expanse of his home.

"Well. The place is yours." He stated rather lamely.

I tried to work up a smile and rubbed my arm, which was still swathed in the thin blue cotton of my dress - clearly, I had not researched weather conditions before dressing this morning.

In a great burst of memory, Uncle Lou started. "Oh! Your box got here - I put it in the green room."

"Thanks!" I had forgotten all about the green room - my uncle and his wife referred to the rooms in their house by color - and I bounded up the white thickly carpeted stairs to my new room.

________________________________________________________________________

I pushed open the lacquered snow door (The entire entry way and stairway that opened onto it were coated in a creamy white - not the sort that felt frighteningly imposing and sterile, but the sort that felt like snuggling against a polar bear) and stepped into the wonderfully sanguine room.

The walls were painted celadon with tiny leaves crawling up the sides of the door facing and window casings.

I went over to the window and, yanking on the thin cord, separated myself from the cold world beyond.

"Why did you move here?" I asked, hearing Uncle Lou's quick footsteps on the stairs.

He sighed, nostalgically "I'd have to say because of Suzan, mostly. She wanted a white Christmas every year. Though, I will admit, this is a bit of an overkill. But, now, this is home to us and I wouldn't see it any other way. Besides, this town needed a law firm." he chuckled lightly. "I mean, before we moved here, these people were settling disputes with skis at twenty paces."

"Sort of like superman, huh?" I grinned.

He cheered considerably at seeing the dark clouds stir from above my head. "Na. he was a reporter. Besides, I'm too chubby to fly…"

Laughing that hard gave me stitches, but I made a mental note to do it more often.

________________________________________________________________________

The packing tape had coated my box in a sticky film and I had to battle with the cardboard flaps before I could unload my stuff. I had packed a chipped silver bell clock, a plastic bag containing my toothbrush etc., and as many articles of clothes as I had thought I would need (which I had underestimated terribly).

I carefully laid out everything on the tea green leafy bedspread and stood back, slowly realizing that I had packed for a nice day at the beach.

Hm. This would take some creative thinking.

There was a light knock on the door and it was opened a crack, Uncle Lou's head sticking through the space.

"Hey! You left your jacket downstairs - here ya go." He started to hand it to me, but paused, with his outstretched arm dangling the garment in the air. "You know? I think one of the kids at school has this jacket - some of them walk past here after school…maybe you have the same taste as them!" He appeared comforted by the prospect of my fitting in and, with a wave, shut the door.

I folded the jacket and laid it on the bed, over the tank tops and sundresses. On a sudden thought, I opened the window blinds and peered outside.

A lazy wind was swirling the powdery snow across the black street and around the legs of the shivering teens that crossed it. I recognized a few of them - a girl from my AP English class, who had shiny black hair that was loosely braided in a long stream down her back.

She was lugging this monstrously proportioned velvet-black backpack across her shoulders and talking shyly with some guy that I didn't know, but I suspected he skied from the red streaks across his otherwise frighteningly pale face.

A little behind them walked the purple haired girl from my theater class, hair encircling her every time the wind stirred. Unlike the others in her group, she didn't carry a backpack, or any sort of bag, but I saw her shove a small notebook into the pocket of her light gray trench coat. She pulled the tie of her coat sharply and, greatly annoyed by her incessantly swirling hair, swept her hair in one hand and twisted it behind her neck.

I applauded her for this step in self confidence (for I had been raised with the idea that those who hid behind their hair liked their hair more than themselves). Most interestingly, though, I thought I had seen sharply pointed ears protruding from the purple sea.

I gawked, I suppose, a little too much because she suddenly lifted her head to look straight at me, gave me a frighteningly curious look, and let her hair fall around her once more.

Embarrassed, I immediately backed away from the window and sank against the warm wall, only to peak over the sill a few moments later. I chided myself for being creepy. _It is not creepy simply to observe_ said myself.

I spotted the red haired boy shuffling down the middle of the snow-heaped road, his mouth moving to some inaudible words. I supposed, for a brief moment, that he was talking to himself. Upon consideration and observation, I came to the conclusion that he was, in fact, singing. The thin wires disappearing underneath his red hair told me I was probably right.

He suddenly stooped down and, balancing his hefty backpack on one arm, packed a snowball with incrediable speed and dexterity. I watched, in awe of a skill I had never had the chance to form, as he raised his grapefruit-sized ball and aimed at my window.

It wasn't until the cursed thing smacked the glass directly in front of my face that I snapped out of my reverie long enough to squeal and duck underneath the windowsill yet again.

It was safer there anyway.


	7. Chapter 7

Supper wasn't as awkward an event as I had anticipated.

Aunt Suzan was back from her nursing job at the attempt of a hospital down the road and I could smell the spaghetti sauce from across the massive house.

Peaking out of my room, I could see Uncle Lou hanging Suzan's puffy sun-yellow jacket in the hall closet below and began to pad down the stairs towards the delicious aroma. I remembered the layout of the house surprisingly well and had navigated my way to the kitchen door when I heard the incessant yips of a tiny dog.

_Hmmmm. I don't remember them having a dog…_ I mused.

Excited at the prospect of food and something to snuggle with, I pressed my hand against a cool panel of the sky blue door.

"Hi!" Aunt Suzan greeted me enthusiastically, while balancing a sizzling pan of sauce and dropping dry noodles into a pot of boiling water.

"Hi! Do you need help?" I asked, excited even more by the prospect of being useful for a change.

"Yes! Actually, you could start by getting Rufus here off of my leg." She grinned, shaking her left foot at me.

There was a tiny, black wire-haired dog wrapped around her ankle, pawing at her denim and letting out a little yap whenever she dropped a stick of pasta.

I scooped him up from her foot and cradled him in my arms. He squirmed and then rested his head on my arm, gazing up at me with big, shiny black eyes.

"So you got a dog." I stated unintelligently, hoping to strike up a conversation that would fill me in on the past five years or so.

"Actually, no." she was still grinning. "This is some kid's dog. He came over after school one day and asked if we'd take care of it. Said he was going on vacation and it needed somewhere to stay." she shook her head. "He even tried to pay us! And it's only, what? Ten ounces? Why pay for someone else to hold your ten ounces?"

"That's really…random." I concluded. I was failing at this conversation thing.

"Oh! No." she corrected. "We know him. Well, sort of. He was in our ski class a couple of months ago. He's really a good kid, so I don't mind. Plus, the dog is très adorable"

I grinned as Rufus flipped himself onto his back and stretched his tiny pink tongue in a great yawn.

Just then, Uncle Lou burst through the swinging door. "Hi girls!" he seemed excited by this family-like gathering. "Can I help with anything?" He playfully wrapped his arms around Suzan and hugged her from behind.

"The pasta's almost done. Why don't you set the table?" she asked, gently elbowing him in the stomach.

He filled the kitchen with his laugh and pretended to sulk over to the other side of the kitchen, flinging open the top cabinet and removing three plates. He winked at me and nodded to the silverware and clear glasses on the deep blue countertop.

Bending down, I let Rufus hop from my arms and grabbed the various utensils, afraid to attempt the glasses as well. I scuffled after Lou into the golden dining room.

"You are a super big deal, kiddo." he stated severely.

I winced, afraid that I was already being a nuisance.

"Usually, we eat in front of the TV."

I giggled along with him this time and even ventured so far as to skip with him back to the kitchen to get the cups.


	8. Chapter 8

That night was very, very cold.

My bedroom itself was rather warm, in fact, and the green leaves sprouting from every corner let me forget for a moment the weather's terrible attitude.

After the whir of my electric toothbrush died and the hum of the heater became steady, though, I could distinctly hear the cracking of bare branches and the faint, sad whistling of the wind that blew without purpose.

I pulled the sheets up to my chin, surrounding myself with the pleasant scent of lavender detergent.

I tried to force my mind to wander, but I couldn't quite picture any of my favorite daydreams - I had several for times when I didn't want to think - so, instead, I lied in bed and concentrated very hard on not crying.


	9. Chapter 9

The next day of school was comparably more enjoyable; it was a Tuesday, always a better day.

Today, I came prepared to face the cold, with my tank top under three-quarter sleeve sun dress over jeans. It was the absolute warmest thing I owned.

I slung the cozy jacket on top of it all, for the moment I woke up and reluctantly peeled back the covers, the cold wrapped its terribly windy spirals around my ankles and traveled up until my very nose felt like leftover turkey. And this was in my heated bedroom.

I scrambled to get ready, which truly wasn't necessary because a) getting to school on time wasn't exactly a requirement - it was highly recommended, but for the first few weeks of school, I had heard, the teachers didn't take role because they didn't know names and b) brushing my teeth and hair really didn't take that long. So, I found myself ready for school an hour and a half earlier than necessary.

I rambled around in the kitchen, too uncomfortable to paw through the cabinets, for Lou and Suzan weren't up yet. I finally decided that the shining stainless steel refrigerator would be my best bet and found a plump orange starring at me from the top shelf. I went into the cinnabar-colored living room and sank into the deep brown leather couch.

As I was aimlessly picking at the skin of my orange, I heard a soft knocking from somewhere in the entry way. Hoping to prevent this foreign noise from disturbing my relatives, I went to investigate.

Through the glittering carved glass on either side of the door, I could see the coated figure of a boy. The sun had just peaked over the mountains and shined around him, so that I couldn't make out any features, but I decided it was probably Rufus' boy.

As if in conformation, Rufus scampered from out of nowhere and began to viciously paw at the painted wood. I picked him up with one hand so he wouldn't escape into the endless snow and yanked the door open.

The boy was smiling sheepishly, but when I poked my head around the door, his expression turned to one of bemused shock. It was the (rather attractive) chocolate-haired boy from my drama class whose jacket, I realized with a blush, I was still wearing.

He tilted his head as if to ask a question, but, instead reached his gloved hands out and took Rufus from me. Rufus, apparently ecstatic to see his owner again, began to squirm uncontrollably and climbed onto his shoulder so that he could lick his face.

The boy grinned at me and then reached into one of his deep pockets and brought forth a fifty dollar bill. He gingerly handed it to me, but I shook my head in refusal. He let his shoulders down in a great sigh and rolled his eyes. I laughed.

"Oh. Do you wanna come in? School's not for an hour…" My. That was awkward sounding. I mentally smacked myself. He seemed unphased, though, and stepped just inside the door.

Apparently he was not alienated. Wow.

I led the way to the kitchen, breathing thanks that I was fully dressed and groomed and everything. Rufus had finished squirming and was nestled in the boy's puffy black coat.

"Do you want some hot chocolate?" I offered, quite lamely. Have mercy on my soul.

He nodded enthusiastically and I, excited to be on the right track for once, bounded to the cabinet that I hoped contained the mugs.

________________________________________________________________________

The nice thing about my new friend was that I didn't feel compelled to talk to him. And he, quite obviously, felt the same because he never spoke a word.

I don't think he even sneezed.

As we sat on the couch (on opposite sides of course, with my knees drawn to my stomach and Rufus asleep in his lap), I began to chat a little, but only when something popped into my mind.

It wasn't as if I had to force myself to sound intelligent and rack my brain for something interesting to discuss. I told him about the beaches I had often visited during the summer time and the park downtown where I had fed the ducks as a small child.

He listened to it all with rapt attention and never took his eyes off me once. I didn't actually sum up the courage to meet his gaze - I could just sort of tell when he was looking at me.

I mostly just watched myself play with the white thread tied around my wrist.

________________________________________________________________________

He had left his massive pile of books on the prim white porch (which I didn't understand - who would need a porch in a perpetual blizzard?) and, as I turned around after shutting the front door, he gently handed Rufus to me and scooped them up in both arms.

I tried to tuck Rufus under my (his) jacket to shield him from the dancing wind, but decided it would be more prudent to simply put him in my mostly-empty backpack.

The boy seemed to nod in approval as I zipped my pack shut and we began the relatively short, icy trek to Lockdown.


	10. Chapter 10

As we crunched along, I began to hear the snow fill with footprints and soon we were surrounded by a group of boys - most of which I did not know. They gathered around my friend, a few peering curiously at me.

The red-headed boy tapped me on the shoulder and then ran (very maturely) to the other side of the mass of teenagers.

A boy I hadn't seen before began to tell a story.

"So, Tess called me at - like - eleven last night and sounded all important and everything and said she needed to talk."

All the boys were looking at him now, seeming to share the same apathy that came with a call from Tess.

"And she's like 'oh. Well, since my mom's the chairman of the goodwill committee, I absolutely _must_ have a date to the banquet. What are _you_ doing this Saturday?' and she tells me all about her dress and how they're gonna to decorate the hall. Like I care so much. And I haven't had time to even say 'hi' yet 'cause she's talking so much and I wanna sleep. So when she finally shuts up I'm like 'oh. Shoot Tess. I have a basketball game that night…'"

The red-headed boy grinned. "Dude. Basketball doesn't start for another couple months."

"Yeah, I think she knew that. And she's super quiet for a while and then's like 'oh. well, I'll call Robert then' and hangs up." he concluded.

The red head paled beneath his freckles. "Me?" he panicked. "Dude. No. that's just… no. I don't have an excuse like that." he eyed me. "What should I tell her, do you think?"

I grew terribly uncomfortable as all eyes shifted to me. "I don't know Tess…but I'd just tell her that I have a date. Do you have a date?"

He actually blushed a little. "Uh. Not yet. But I'm working on it. It's just not gonna be Tess - I know that."

"Then I just wouldn't answer my phone for a couple of days."

Robert rolled his eyes as his friends began to snicker. "Oh wow. Thanks."

He grinned back at me, though, so I knew I wasn't being completely stupid.


	11. Chapter 11

Tess really was obnoxious.

I had tried to reserve judgment until I actually met her, but the minute she walked into the room - before I even knew her name was Tess, I would like to add - I knew she was obnoxious.

I had just settled into the hard and *surprisingly* cold plastic desk chair when the door to the small, echoing room was slammed open. I jumped, all the guys put their heads down, Mr. Pulskid put his head in his hands, and all the girls pretended not to notice simultaneously.

She giggled and began to flounce into the room, her unbelievably laden charm bracelet making more noise than I had ever imagined an accessory capable of. Her silver high heels were wonderfully out of place in the dim class room and immediately told me that she had not walked here. I began to think she wanted me to know that.

"Hiiiiiii." she chirped, sliding coolly into the seat in front of me.

"Hey." I returned, wishing very hard that she would finish zipping up her sweater.

"You're new here, right? I'm Tess. I've been here since… oh sheesh. I dunno. Freshman year. It kind of seems like forever, though. Right?"

I heard a moan from Robert, whose face was buried into his black sports backpack.

Tess followed my gaze to his desk. "Oh! Robert! I was going to call you later, but I guess we can talk now…"

"Oh! Actually I am new here." I improvised, "and I was sort of wondering if you could give me the lowdown on this place - you know, what teachers to avoid, who to take from…"

Tess light up at my conspiratory tone.

Robert gave me a huge grin and put his head back into his backpack.

"Well." she took a deep breath and I instinctively zoned out.

________________________________________________________________________

To Tess' absolute delight, we discovered (over the course of our one-way conversation) that we had first period together. I was almost positive that I didn't remember her (and I would've remembered her) from yesterday and asked where she was.

"What?" she blinked. "Oh yeah. Well, I always skip the first day of school. It's so…I dunno. Pointless, I guess."

Perhaps she was smarter than she seemed.

"Plus, my daddy had the day off and he gave me his credit card. So why bother with school anyway when you've got the plastic?"

Was this some sort of code she was speaking?

"What do you mean -" but my inquiry was cut short by the obnoxious wailing of a tiny silver bell screwed to the wall.

"Noooooooooow." began Mr. Pulskid from behind his hands, "We have some things to discuss. The office would like to know who wrote that lovely po-em on the boys' bathroom wall. We're pretty sure it was a boy, but if you have any other information, we would appreciate it. And…"

He raised his head long enough to consult a crumpled piece of paper. "Lunch to-day will consist of fish sticks and mashed potatoes. I hope you all brought your appetites."

Robert caught my eye and slowly shook his head. Ok, so no fish sticks.

"There will be a brief assembly in the gym for the new students during lunch. Have a nice day."

And the bell began to ring once more. Tess popped up quicker than the rest and gave me a frighteningly toothy smile.

"Let's go to math!" she cried. I wondered what joy she saw in it.

________________________________________________________________________

There was only one classroom for all the math classes of the high school - possibly because there was only one math teacher. Which was sort of a shame.

The walls were about the same color as her skin (creamy gray) and sometimes, when my attention wavered, I lost her amid the bare walls. Her tiny voice matched her stature and commanded the same sort of attention.

She seemed to teach with this confidence that we were all excited to be there because we found math as exciting as she. She was in for some disappointments this year. For, when Tess dragged me in by my wrist, I spotted two boys who were already asleep, a girl who was trying to work gum out of her blackened hair, and a sea of empty desks. Which remained empty.

I supposed that either we were the "special class," or the rest didn't see the need to even show up. I soon began to side with the later theory.

"Hello. For those of you who weren't paying attention yesterday, I am Ms. Smelton. This is algebra two. We are going to gain a lot of knowledge in this class. Open your notebooks."

Tess wiggled into a seat and produced a bottle of nail polish.

I stuck my hand into my backpack to retrieve a notebook and felt something furry against my hand. Mrs. Skelton's gaze tore from the blackboard at my squeal.

"Is something amiss, young lady?" she tried to loom and failed miserably.

"Oh. No. erm. Well. Yes. Sort of. You see, my little brother was playing with the ketchup bottle this morning and I think I figured out what he was doing with it." I winced at my lame story.

"Oh. And I suppose you would like to leave class to erect this situation?" her tone was rather snide.

"Um. Please?"

"Well, I do hope that you can learn this on your own. I'll expect you back in this room in ten minutes."

"Thank you!" I gasped as I ran from the room, hand still in my backpack. Little did she know I had taken this class last year.

I stumbled into the hallway after a rather awkward attempt to open the door with my elbows (I ended up quickly pulling my hand out of my backpack and hoping Mrs. Smelton didn't notice.) and looked around wildly for my chocolate-haired friend. Which obviously came to no avail. _He's in class, stupid_. I muttered to myself.

I ran down the long, ice blue hallway to the double doors of freedom, into the artic blast of air and down the crumbling concrete walkway to the *hopefully* deserted auditorium. I burst through the doors and ran to a row of seats.

"Here" I panted to Rufus, taking him out of my bag and placing him in a padded seat. He stared back at me with mischievous eyes.

"_Hmm. This is not a good idea…" _that small annoying voice said.

I thought for a moment and, with great reluctance, bent down and yanked the lace out of my shoe. I tied it to Rufus' collar and to the chair with a Boy Scout knot I had learned as a wee child.

Satisfied, I ran all the way back to the room (which was rather difficult because my shoe flew off twice) and stopped outside the door to catch my breath.

I had flattened against the painted cinder block of the hallway wall listening to Ms. Skelton's barely audible voice drone on and on when I felt a warm stream of air blow down my neck.

I whirled around, directly into a strange-smelling black sweater that was draped over the surprisingly muscular body of the tall, gangly blond from my drama class.

"Why hello." he smiled creepily. "Didn't think I'd ever see you skipping class."

This whole thing was much too weird for my liking. He didn't seem this smooth in class yesterday. I tried to make eye contact, but didn't succeed in tearing my gaze from the knit of his sweater. It was terribly unusual. The threads didn't appear to be woven into each other - they were just sort of wrapped around him. Very odd.

"Or are you only skipping part of class? Couldn't hold out that long, hmmm?" He reached a bony hand for my backpack and I zipped it fiercely.

"I did not go to get a fix…or whatever" I muttered to his sweater, realizing how stupid I sounded. "I went to clean out my backpack. It just had some old junk in it that I needed to get rid of."

"M-hm. ok. We'll play it your way." His grin was beginning to get a little cat-ish (and I had never liked cats). "What's your name, again?" He was leaning down so far that his pale lips were only inches from my ear. "Mine's Jerrod."

I scooted down the wall a bit. "Correte." I mumbled.

He scooted down the wall so we were, once more, inches from each other. I became a little angry with his blatant violation of my personal bubble and tried to glare at him.

I wound up gawking at his eyes instead. They were the same stone grey as everyone else's, only, just around the pupils, there was a twist of deep purple.

"That's a beautiful name" he cooed and I snapped out of my daze long enough to flee to the safety of the math room.

Which, I thought later, was rather ironic.


	12. Chapter 12

Tess seemed to pop up all day - I only had math with her, but it seemed that she was either walking past, or near my locker or in the bathroom at the same time as me. It was sort of frightening, actually. I would try to smile and acknowledge her presence, but I stopped after the third time of this.

For whenever she knew that I was giving her my attention, she would begin a story with a tone of utmost importance, like this new information was vital to me. Mostly, she just told me about seeing old boyfriends and what she did over the summer (she did _not_ stay here, I gathered) and what my feelings should be on the matter.

I had darted from the hallway to the stench of the biology room, and sunken into a back row seat, when Robert came up to me, grinning.

"So, I see you've met Tess" he laughed, perching on the sleek black lab table.

"Something like that…she's nice, I guess." I said, but he eyed me. "I just feel like I'm being stalked." I confided.

"Oh. You pretty much are. I mean, she seems nice and all, but she never leaves you alone. Dude. She is a stalker. Hmmm…" he pretended to ponder this for a moment, stroking his chin with his thumb and forefinger.

"But don't worry - she does this to pretty much all the new kids - even the guys. It's worse if you're a guy though… she'll get tired of following you eventually. Then she'll just call you." he looked around conspiratorially.

"You haven't given her your number - have you?" his eyes grew wide and I laughed.

"Of course not. I'm not that stupid."

"Ok. Good. Keep it that way." satisfied, he slid from his perch onto the swiveling metal chair next to mine.


	13. Chapter 13

Lunch confirmed all my worst fears and, I think, even attempted to exceed them. First off, it was not a "meeting" like the morning report had promised. It was an initiation. The moment I stepped into the cavernous gym and saw the circle of metal chairs and the heap of brightly-colored paper, I knew this was not going to be an enjoyable experience. Most of the chairs were already filled with sighing teens, some waiting for something to happen and some glancing nervously about, like they feared that something was going to happen. I stumbled over the back leg of a chair and wound up sitting (though, less gracefully than I would've liked) between two empty chairs. I heard the click of high heels and looked to the shadowy door in time to see Mrs. Pemilton emerge from the darkness. She was the prim headmaster of the high school, hair in a perpetual bun and peering suspiciously over her wire-rimmed glasses. "Hm. So, I see there are a fair number of new students this year." As if she didn't already know that. I watched her click across the room to the podium next to the chair circle and heard a small cough to my right. I spun around to face my dark-brown haired friend looking mischievously out of the corner of his eye at me. I began to return his grin, only to hear the sharp thunk of Mrs. Pemilton's black binder against the podium. "We will begin" she began laconically, "With a small exercise to help you familiarize yourselves with one another. Pick up a sheet of paper and write three exciting facts about yourself. Then put it back in the pile." I tried very hard not to roll my eyes, but I think I did anyway. Mrs. Pemilton raised a penciled eyebrow (which was definitely not the same chestnut brown as her hair) and pointed a bony, pale finger to the pile. I reached from my chair and snagged a small, green piece that had fluttered away from the pack, only to realize that the boy was already handing me a larger blue piece. I laughed a little and we both looked instinctively at Mrs. I Love to Raise My Eyebrow at Any Expression of Joy. He took the paper for himself (for which I was glad) and began to scribble furiously. I stared at my small sheet and wondered why I didn't bring a pencil. I peered at the boy, who was now doodling on the edge of his paper, and reached timidly over to take his pen - he handed it to me without even looking up. Was this going to be a regular sort of thing? Him giving me stuff that I'd forgotten? I sort of hoped not, but then again, I sort of hoped so. I wound up writing "I am not an exciting person" on the sheet and throwing it to the floor in a rather frustrated vendetta against myself. "It appears you are finished." Mrs. Pemilton perceived. Her word choice was impeccable. "Everyone choose a slip from the pile." We did so, but with small groans from the lazier and a wave of eye rolls from the lot of us. "David, read yours." I was surprised to see she was making eye contact with my friend. So that was his name. Finally. He gave a sort of sideways smile and held the paper in front of his face, words facing into the circle. "I am not an exciting person," it complained. Ah. Well, better him than her. "And who do you think this best describes?" Her tone was rather rhetorical. He glanced around the circle, making eye contact with those whose eyes were actually open. Making a big show of thinking through his decision, he pointed at Mrs. Pemilton. I began to snicker. Then, I ventured to look at her expression. And I started shaking with inevitably uncontrollable laughter. Needless to say, we were asked to leave the bonding session.

"What were you doing in the gym?" I nosed as we walked down the hall outside the gym. "You're not new." David looked at me as if to say "Aren't I?" but I knew that I was right. I tried to give him my best "Stop being coy" look while scuffling through the windowless door he held open for me, but I wound up snagging my foot on the door facing. Stumble Count: 4. Way too high for only noon. He gingerly grasped my elbow in an attempt to catch me, but, thankfully, I didn't fall. Totally off guard, I looked him in the face to smile in thanks. I had never really noticed his eyes before (Possibly because I didn't have the courage to actually look at him.). I don't know how I had missed them, but I did. They were vivid majorelle blue with twists of brandeis and flecks of periwinkle. Not like the sea, or like the sky, or like any sort of cheesy analogy I could think up. They weren't like anything, really. They were expressive, always laughing a little, terribly honest… I had made up my mind that his were my favorite eyes, when someone tapped me on the shoulder. "Hey, could you move?" an indignantly pudgy youth demanded. _Freshman_. I instinctively thought and immediately felt bad for generalizing. David gently pulled me back into the hallway by my elbows so the bright youth of America could pass through the stupid door. I stood staring at his eyes, being held by the elbows, and gawking like a complete idiot until I found myself wrapped in a hug. I was rather surprised by how warm of a hug it was, actually. He was only wearing a thin white button-down shirt (I wasn't really clear on where his coat had gone) and jeans, but the moment he hugged me the obnoxious snow outside ceased to exist. It was summer again (the sort that's actually hot).

As it turns out, he wanted Rufus back. Which made a lot of sense. I had sort of hoped he had just come to lunch…just because. _No, Correte. He did not just come to see you. People don't get that excited over you. Honestly. And you've known him for…hm. Let's see? Two days? And he probably has a girlfriend…Why do you care if he has a girlfriend, anyway? You're just friends…_ I said to myself (though, not out loud - I'm convinced everyone talks to themselves - most just keep it internal). We hastened through the blustering cold to the auditorium. Actually, he didn't seem to be in much of a hurry and I was beginning to worry because he didn't have a jacket or coat. I pulled my jacket collar tight around my neck and then offered it to him. He gave me a very strange look, which I interpreted as "You're the girl - and you're skinnier than I am - though I am rather thin - you need it more than I do. Besides, that would be terribly unchivilrous of me," but I could've read too much into it. It was very odd talking to David, though. He never spoke, but I always knew exactly what he meant. I could've just been assigning the responses that I wanted him to have, but I had this overpowering feeling that I wasn't. That he knew that I knew what he meant. Which was rather exciting. As we stamped the crust of snow off of our shoes onto the black rubber mat, I could hear Rufus yapping for all his tiny body had. I hurried to pull open one of the auditorium doors (which, of course, David had already opened) and was confronted with a rather strange sight. Jerrod and the purple-haired girl were sitting in the front two seats, Jerrod's arm slung around her shoulder and her head resting on his shoulder. They were staring at the stage as though there was a fantastic spectacle taking place just for them, though the stage was empty and dark. Spooky? I began to tiptoe down the aisle towards Rufus, but David clamped his hand around my shoulder and spun me around. His eyes were, I noticed with a bit of alarm, quite serious. He pointed over his shoulder to the door and I, with many questioning looks, went outside and sat in the snow. He emerged with Rufus a few minutes after that, though it seemed like quite a while, holding my shoelace out to me and shaking his shoulders in laughter. I grinned and re-laced my shoe, trying to ignore my now runny nose. "What was that serious face about?" I interrogated. "You looked…worried or something." He shrugged his shoulders lightly, but I could tell he was still worried. "Were they doing something I wasn't supposed to see?" I joked, but he surprised me by turning pale. "Were they?" I repeated, but this time I meant it. He ran a hand through his dark hair and stood there, looking terribly helpless. He wasn't going to tell me, was he? "Fine. But I'm not done bugging you about this." I warned. "When you least expect it - bam - there I'll be. Interrogating you and your serious face." He knelt in the snow and looked me in the eyes, searching my expression for any sign of…I don't actually know. I could just tell that he was searching for something. He took me by the hands and helped me up out of the snow, and I playfully punched him in the arm. "I was joking, you know…" He grinned and punched me back, though it was a great deal softer than my own blow.


	14. Chapter 14

Lunch confirmed all my worst fears and, I think, even attempted to exceed them.

First off, it was not a "meeting" like the morning report had promised. It was an initiation. The moment I stepped into the cavernous gym and saw the circle of metal chairs and the heap of brightly-colored paper, I knew this was not going to be an enjoyable experience.

Most of the chairs were already filled with sighing teens, some waiting for something to happen and some glancing nervously about, like they feared that something was going to happen. I stumbled over the back leg of a chair and wound up sitting (though, less gracefully than I would've liked) between two empty chairs.

I heard the click of high heels and looked to the shadowy door in time to see Mrs. Pemilton emerge from the darkness. She was the prim headmaster of the high school, hair in a perpetual bun and peering suspiciously over her wire-rimmed glasses.

"Hm. So, I see there are a fair number of new students this year." As if she didn't already know that.

I watched her click across the room to the podium next to the chair circle and heard a small cough to my right. I spun around to face my dark-brown haired friend looking mischievously out of the corner of his eye at me. I began to return his grin, only to hear the sharp thunk of Mrs. Pemilton's black binder against the podium.

"We will begin" she began laconically, "With a small exercise to help you familiarize yourselves with one another. Pick up a sheet of paper and write three exciting facts about yourself. Then put it back in the pile."

I tried very hard not to roll my eyes, but I think I did anyway. Mrs. Pemilton raised a penciled eyebrow (which was definitely not the same chestnut brown as her hair) and pointed a bony, pale finger to the pile.

I reached from my chair and snagged a small, green piece that had fluttered away from the pack, only to realize that the boy was already handing me a larger blue piece. I laughed a little and we both looked instinctively at Mrs. I Love to Raise My Eyebrow at Any Expression of Joy.

He took the paper for himself (for which I was glad) and began to scribble furiously. I stared at my small sheet and wondered why I didn't bring a pencil. I peered at the boy, who was now doodling on the edge of his paper, and reached timidly over to take his pen - he handed it to me without even looking up.

Was this going to be a regular sort of thing? Him giving me stuff that I'd forgotten? I sort of hoped not, but then again, I sort of hoped so.

I wound up writing "I am not an exciting person" on the sheet and throwing it to the floor in a rather frustrated vendetta against myself.

"It appears you are finished." Mrs. Pemilton perceived. Her word choice was impeccable.

"Everyone choose a slip from the pile."

We did so, but with small groans from the lazier and a wave of eye rolls from the lot of us.

"David, read yours."

I was surprised to see she was making eye contact with my friend. So that was his name. Finally. He gave a sort of sideways smile and held the paper in front of his face, words facing into the circle.

"I am not an exciting person," it complained. Ah. Well, better him than her.

"And who do you think this best describes?" Her tone was rather rhetorical. He glanced around the circle, making eye contact with those whose eyes were actually open. Making a big show of thinking through his decision, he pointed at Mrs. Pemilton.

I began to snicker. Then, I ventured to look at her expression. And I started shaking with inevitably uncontrollable laughter. Needless to say, we were asked to leave the bonding session.

________________________________________________________________________

"What were you doing in the gym?" I nosed as we walked down the hall outside the gym. "You're not new."

David looked at me as if to say "Aren't I?" but I knew that I was right.

I tried to give him my best "Stop being coy" look while scuffling through the windowless door he held open for me, but I wound up snagging my foot on the door facing.

Stumble Count: 4. Way too high for only noon.

He gingerly grasped my elbow in an attempt to catch me, but, thankfully, I didn't fall. Totally off guard, I looked him in the face to smile in thanks. I had never really noticed his eyes before (Possibly because I didn't have the courage to actually look at him.).

I don't know how I had missed them, but I did. They were vivid majorelle blue with twists of brandeis and flecks of periwinkle. Not like the sea, or like the sky, or like any sort of cheesy analogy I could think up. They weren't like anything, really. They were expressive, always laughing a little, terribly honest…

I had made up my mind that his were my favorite eyes, when someone tapped me on the shoulder.

"Hey, could you move?" an indignantly pudgy youth demanded.

_Freshman_. I instinctively thought and immediately felt bad for generalizing.

David gently pulled me back into the hallway by my elbows so the bright youth of America could pass through the stupid door. I stood staring at his eyes, being held by the elbows, and gawking like a complete idiot until I found myself wrapped in a hug.

I was rather surprised by how warm of a hug it was, actually. He was only wearing a thin white button-down shirt (I wasn't really clear on where his coat had gone) and jeans, but the moment he hugged me the obnoxious snow outside ceased to exist. It was summer again (the sort that's actually hot).

________________________________________________________________________

As it turns out, he wanted Rufus back. Which made a lot of sense. I had sort of hoped he had just come to lunch…just because.

_No, Correte. He did not just come to see you. People don't get that excited over you. Honestly. And you've known him for…hm. Let's see? Two days? And he probably has a girlfriend…Why do you care if he has a girlfriend, anyway? You're just friends…_ I said to myself (though, not out loud - I'm convinced everyone talks to themselves - most just keep it internal).

We hastened through the blustering cold to the auditorium. Actually, he didn't seem to be in much of a hurry and I was beginning to worry because he didn't have a jacket or coat. I pulled my jacket collar tight around my neck and then offered it to him.

He gave me a very strange look, which I interpreted as "You're the girl - and you're skinnier than I am - though I am rather thin - you need it more than I do. Besides, that would be terribly unchivilrous of me," but I could've read too much into it.

It was very odd talking to David, though. He never spoke, but I always knew exactly what he meant. I could've just been assigning the responses that I wanted him to have, but I had this overpowering feeling that I wasn't. That he knew that I knew what he meant. Which was rather exciting.

As we stamped the crust of snow off of our shoes onto the black rubber mat, I could hear Rufus yapping for all his tiny body had. I hurried to pull open one of the auditorium doors (which, of course, David had already opened) and was confronted with a rather strange sight.

Jerrod and the purple-haired girl were sitting in the front two seats, Jerrod's arm slung around her shoulder and her head resting on his shoulder. They were staring at the stage as though there was a fantastic spectacle taking place just for them, though the stage was empty and dark. Spooky?

I began to tiptoe down the aisle towards Rufus, but David clamped his hand around my shoulder and spun me around. His eyes were, I noticed with a bit of alarm, quite serious. He pointed over his shoulder to the door and I, with many questioning looks, went outside and sat in the snow.

He emerged with Rufus a few minutes after that, though it seemed like quite a while, holding my shoelace out to me and shaking his shoulders in laughter. I grinned and re-laced my shoe, trying to ignore my now runny nose.

"What was that serious face about?" I interrogated. "You looked…worried or something."

He shrugged his shoulders lightly, but I could tell he was still worried.

"Were they doing something I wasn't supposed to see?" I joked, but he surprised me by turning pale.

"Were they?" I repeated, but this time I meant it.

He ran a hand through his dark hair and stood there, looking terribly helpless. He wasn't going to tell me, was he?

"Fine. But I'm not done bugging you about this." I warned. "When you least expect it - bam - there I'll be. Interrogating you and your serious face."

He knelt in the snow and looked me in the eyes, searching my expression for any sign of…I don't actually know. I could just tell that he was searching for something.

He took me by the hands and helped me up out of the snow, and I playfully punched him in the arm.

"I was joking, you know…" He grinned and punched me back, though it was a great deal softer than my own blow.


	15. Chapter 15

Photography was a much needed relief and a much dreaded occurrence. First off, I was super excited about photography in general - the prospect of lunch ending made it even more appealing. But, as I stepped in the dingy paint-speckled room, I knew this was a place where the awkward and uncoordinated were not welcomed.

I tried to let the door slowly close behind me, but it was so heavy that it actually succeeded in pushing me into the room, announcing my presence with a loud bang shortly thereafter.

The pale teacher was hunched over a black, metal desk, staring forlornly at the pile of ceramics projects from the previous year.

"Anyone? Anyone?" she asked loudly.

Apparently, I hadn't made as great an entrance as the door had hoped. Ha.

I meandered past a large clay wheel, past many shelves of paint, past a grey metal cabinet missing a door and hinges, to a large table coated in clay dust.

"Hey there," smiled Robert, without looking up from the clear liquid he was stirring.

"Hey! You have this class too?" I asked, terribly excited that I already had a friend and two classes with him to boot.

"I'm in Photography II, but it's basically the same thing - it's just that I do more advanced junk."

"So…what do I do?" I asked, realizing slowly that the teacher had no intention of removing her gaze from the pile of ceramics.

"Ms. Wingston doesn't really…do much. We sort of teach each other here. Ha-ha I guess you get a better grade that way," he mused to himself. "You can start diluting the fixer…"

"What?" I felt so dumb. So very, very dumb.

"Take four ounces of that stuff and mix it with twenty ounces of water. And then mix it for like ten minutes."

"I can probably handle that." I grasped the thin neck of a plastic bottle marked "Fixer" in rather large letters (so much for my attempts at hyper-observance) and began to pour the acidic-smelling stuff into a glass jar.

I made my way over to the sink with my wares, removing a large pile of various plastic things (which, Robert explained from across the room, were developing tanks) from the metal basin before being able to actually reach the faucet.

On my way back to the table, though, I stepped in a mysterious puddle of bright blue paint and smeared it halfway across the room.

"Dude - What'd you do? Kill a smurf?" Robert joked.

"Very amusing," I fired back, so terribly pleased, once again, to have a friend. This was sort of a big deal.

I began to stir the yucky clear stuff with a plastic spoon, greatly concerned that it was going to be eaten away quite suddenly by whatever was causing the smell.

"Ha-ha. Hey. It's not gonna hurt you," he laughed, observing my two-fingered grasp of the spoon.

"Oh wow. Thanks, Robert." I quickly fell into a monotonous stirring pattern, imagining some devious witches - the motley sort - that sat about a stereotypical black caldron stirring something quite like this and throwing in various bits of animals at random intervals.

The door slammed suddenly and my head snapped up involuntarily to face a wiry tanned girl clutching a painting and trying not to cry. She walked quickly up to Ms. Wingston and shoved the paper on top of the ceramics mountain.

"It's ruined!" she cried, rather dramatically. "Thomas pushed me into the snow and I was holding it, only Thomas didn't know I was holding it or he wouldn't have pushed me I don't think, and I fell and it fell and now it's all wet and it's ruined!"

I really did think she was going to faint there at the end. I thought it would've been a nice touch. I also found it amusing that the paint was running (any intelligent person knows that acrylic paint doesn't run once dry - no matter how wet it gets) - clearly she had just painted it and dumped some water on it. It was sort of awful, I will give her that.

"Oh and this was my summer project and I worked so hard on it and please can I have five more weeks to redo it?" I really did begin to think I was going to be ill.

"Dude…" I felt a light tap on my shoulder and looked back at Robert, only to find him pointing to my rather long hair which had found its way into the witches' brew.

"Yuck!" I cried and gingerly yanked it out of the jar. "Is this going to hurt me?" Ever the introvert.

"Uh - no. I don't think so. Just go wash it out or something…" For all his wise words, Robert did look genuinely concerned, I will give him that.

"Do you think she'll mind?" I rushed, gesturing to Ms. Blank Stare.

"Ha. She wouldn't notice if you died…"

"Oh good," I said to myself as I rudely tuned out Robert and scanned the room for any other sign of a sink (for the girl was now washing her hands of the still wet paint). None.

I briskly exited the room and found refuge in the bathroom of which, I am terribly proud to say, I knew the location. I stood with my hair draped in the sink for the longest five minutes of my life (Mostly because there was no hot water knob and the ice cold liquid that swirled about my head did not enhance the experience.). I twisted my hair of excess water (All the while feeling rather bad for wetting the already cold tile floor.) and combed it quickly out with my fingers.

There now. I was cured.

________________________________________________________________________

The blustering wind seemed pleased to find my hair in its less-than-dry state and whooshed merrily to greet me every time I opened its door.

I ran to theatre with all the ferocity my now tired legs could muster, crunching through the snow and occasionally twisting my ankle at odd angles. I had just reached the tiny overhang of the auditorium and was scrapping the snow off of my shoes, when a snowball whizzed past my stomach and smacked the grim brick wall.

I heard a quiet curse entirely too close to my ear and spun around, all hopes of it being David puddling about my feet with those cold, gray and purple eyes.

"I missed you…" Jerrod cooed, wrapping his arms around my middle and drawing me into a hug. I struggled to free myself and wound up stepping on his foot and untying my own shoelace.

"I'm…very cold. Can I go inside?" I asked, entirely too meekly for my present situation.

"I want you to see something," Jerrod continued as though I had never spoken. "Look over there."

I followed his boney finger back to the path I had just *attempted* to sprint down and noticed a mysterious set of blue footprints speckling the snow. Poo.

"Do you know that I've been seeing those tiny footprints all over school today? I now know what classes you have after lunch and in what order and how you get to them. Isn't that interesting? All from footprints?"

But, by that time, I had fought my way out of his grasp and into a nice, warm auditorium. Where I really, really hoped that David would be.

________________________________________________________________________

I entered the room, it would seem, in somewhat of a frenzy. For, by the time I was half-way down the aisle, all eyes had snapped to little me.

Most of the girls just watched me with that terribly annoying stare that teenage girls tend to have (the "I am judging you based on your appearance" look), but the girl with purple hair looked rather angry. Her hair was tied back, so I got a nice, long look at her furiously squinted eyes and pouting mouth.

David, on the other hand, looked worried. I could tell by the way he gripped the stage and leaned forward tensely, his eyes locked on what I thought was me. Robert watched me curiously, it seemed, while the other two boys simply glanced up and returned to their thumb twiddling (mental thumb twiddling, it would seem).

Why was I so exciting all of a sudden? My entrance into a room had never caused this menagerie of expressions before. Until I reached the stage, near enough for David's protection, and realized that they were all still staring down the aisle.

Watching Jerrod. Oh good.

David shifted his worried attention to me and put his arm around my shoulder protectively. What was the big deal? Jerrod and I came in together. And that's all anyone knew. Right?

I began to contemplate the stained carpet in a rather futile attempt to prevent myself from watching Jerrod as he sauntered over to the circle of girls and slung his arm around two sets of shoulders.

I felt David's stare and turned to find it had become unreadable. His face was paler than I had ever seen it before, so pale that his eyes seemed to glow. His arm began to shake across my shoulders and I grasped his hand (unconsciously) to steady it.

"Are you ok?" I asked in alarm, only to have him remove his hand from mine and cautiously touch a bit of my hair. I grasped the lock, holding it to my eyes and twisting it this way and that in the small bit of light. I saw nothing.

"What?!" I asked, perturbed and slightly more than worried. David, still watching me frightfully, slid his black cell phone out of his pocket and took a picture of me, flicking the screen around so that I could see myself.

And, oddly enough, there was a vivid ultramarine streak of hair now framing my face.

That definitely hadn't been there this morning.


	16. Chapter 16

The walk home with David was cold and lonely. David didn't look at me - I could tell he was making a point not to do so - and every time I asked him a question, he responded only with a head bob.

After an interminable period of silence, I became rather stubborn and stopped walking altogether. David started to look at me questioningly, but quickly focused on the sidewalk, kicking at the crust of ice above.

"I accidentally dipped my hair in photography chemicals…That's why it's blue. Does it really bother you that much?" I asked saucily, rather surprising myself - I usually wasn't this straight-forward with strangers.

To my dismay, he presented his phone once more, only for me to be faced with an unhappy likeness of myself boasting blue highlights all over.

Rufus began to whine and I patted my backpack comfortingly.

"It isn't because of the chemicals that your hair has turned blue," David whispered, lifting my chin with his forefinger.

I thought about that for a while. "Then…why is my hair blue?" _Oh. That's a good one._

David looked bewildered. At least he was looking at me again. "You don't know why your hair is…blue?" he practically stuttered.

"Do you?" he coaxed, after a moment of silence.

I just starred at his eyes. The flecks of blue had moved. They seemed to twist and swirl like water, to flicker and snap like fire, to bend and flutter like leaves caught in the wind…

I was once again drawn into a summer hug before I could finish my observation and I was quite happy to melt long enough to ebb and flow with my thoughts.

________________________________________________________________________

It wasn't until after I had placed a door between me and the mordant wind that I realized what had just occurred.

"Wait!" I cried, flinging open the door and bracing myself against the wind that invaded Lou's home with glee. But I was faced with only a gray and white landscape yet again, one that seemed to surround and comfort the unsuspecting in a most ominous manner. I could hear Rufus yelp - I knew he had heard me - but David was no where in sight and I somehow knew he wasn't coming back.

He had spoken to me. Actually spoken to me. I didn't think he could talk, quite honestly. Why, then, had he not done so before?

________________________________________________________________________

I raced up the fuzzy stairs to my new room, not bothering to shed my jacket (Though, I did remember to take off my shoes - just in case a little extra paint had hung around for any further adventure), and dumped the contents of my backpack onto my bed.

Three used pencils and a black composition notebook. Perfect.

I snatched the marbled notebook and plopped into the smooth wooden rocking chair (which was, of course, painted celadon and decorated with tiny leaves), beginning to scribble furiously.

_Why have you never said anything before? So, you can talk, right? Do you just like being quiet? Are you foreign, perhaps? Do you know why my hair's blue? If so, why is my hair blue? Why didn't you just tell me why? Why does it bother you so much?_ And so on and so on until I finally emptied my mind of questions (all of which were directed at David) and flipped back to find that I had filled five pages. This I would give to him tomorrow.

A strange feeling was electrifying me - the feeling of discovering a lost secret, one that has been hidden so well and so long that it is forgotten. I wasn't quite sure why I felt that way. But I did.

I sprang from my chair, invigorated by a mysterious force, and ran into the creamy hallway. I turned and, passing several doors, all of which were open to reveal a painting studio, an office, and yet another guest bedroom, found myself before Lou and Suzan's bedroom door.

Looking over my shoulder unnecessarily (for neither one was home yet), I grasped the smooth golden knob and pushed the door open.

Their bedroom was the most beautiful shade of yellow I had ever beheld. It was buttery and soft, but not baby-ish. It was like sunlight captured in brushstroke. I stood in the middle of their sunny room for a moment, feeling the light pouring from the walls and going so far as to sit on the plush cream-colored carpet so that I could run my hand through it. This was the place of joyous solitude. The solitude, I quickly reminded myself, that I did not want and was trying to avoid.

_So get up_.

Reluctantly, I rose and shuffled to another door leading out of their room. That was the closet. I tried yet another door and found the bathroom. Huzzah. The bathroom too was yellow, but not as halcyon for its lack of carpet.

Feeling slightly guilty all the while, I crossed to their bathtub and snatched the bottle of hair dye that I knew would be there (for, upon my arrival, I had gotten a nice, long look at Suzan's real roots).

I gave a silent word of thanks that Suzan seemed to prefer my natural hair color over her own and stole away to my own bathroom to do a bit of maintenance.


End file.
